


Walk the Worlds

by clear_sight



Category: A Darker Shade of Magic - V. E. Schwab, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: A consequence of blood magic., Again with the blood magic., Also characters inflicting harm on themselves for the purpose of magic., Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Set in the Shades of Magic universe, So if you have issues with blood..., There is quite a bit of blood in this story.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear_sight/pseuds/clear_sight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a rare man, a powerful magician able to move between the worlds: his own Red London, the magicless Grey London, and the dying White London.  He serves the Red Crown, an ambassador to the rulers of the parallel Londons.  But when a relic of the fabled Black London arises and threatens to throw the worlds into chaos, he must work together with allies from Grey London and Gold London - a city long believed to be nothing but myth - to stop it, all the while fighting the forces of White London.  But something about White London doesn't sit right.  There may be more secrets yet than Steve knew to seek.</p><p>**This fic has been revised and some of the characters changed since it was originally posted in 2015.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Red Morning

**Author's Note:**

> The world this is set in is based nearly entirely on the world of the novel "A Darker Shade of Magic." While it isn't necessarily imperative that you be familiar with the book, it would probably be extremely helpful. I will put some of the necessary vocabulary at the end in the notes for those of you who haven't read it. (Although if you haven't, I recommend you do. It's a spectacular novel.) I have, though, changed quite a bit to fit more with the Marvel universe. It is critical that you be familiar with that universe, or at least with The Avengers, in order to understand this story. 
> 
> There are no superheros in this story. Some people have powers, but they're different powers than what they have in the Marvel universe. It's a consequence of having plunked them into an entirely different universe with different tech, different science, and different rules.

Blood welled from the cut along the back of Steve's arm and he winced at the sharp, stinging pain that came with it.  But nothing was without sacrifice and so he ran his fingers over the cut and pressed his bloodied hand to the wall before him and murmured, " _As Travars._ "

The wall before him gave way and he stepped out onto a cobbled street.  The dim flicker of gaslights lit the night around him and flung shadows like ghosts into the spaces between buildings.  The air here smelled of smoke and grit and, this evening, of rain.  As he made his way along the familiar path to the tavern, he listened to the sounds of Gray London.  There was so much here that was different than his own London.  The sounds and scent were only the beginning.

As usual, the Stone's Throw was brimming with life when he entered.  Little clusters of people were gathered at the tavern's tables, some immersed in cards, others in conversation.  But the man Steve was looking for was at the back, seated at the bar and wrapped up in an animated argument with another patron.  Tony Stark was short and pale with dark hair and eyes and hands that were never still. By contrast, his companion - Tony called him Rhodey, but Steve knew his name to be Colonel James Rhodes - was tall, dark skinned, and patiently calm.  He watched Tony with an exasperation that looked almost like fondness.

“Look, I’m not saying get rid of the human element, but I don’t see why it couldn’t be mechanized,” Steve could hear Tony saying as he approached.

“People will never go for it,” Rhodey replied in the even tone of a man who has explained the same thing at least three times and knows this time won’t be the last.

Steve tugged his coat straighter as he approached them.  Colonel Rhodes always seemed to inspire a neatness and attention in Steve that few people had ever managed.  “Evening, gentlemen.  I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all,” Rhodes replied, extending a hand and looking Steve straight in the eyes.  It was one of the things Steve appreciated most about the man.  Rhodes had never once shied away from meeting Steve’s eyes.   _Both_ of Steve’s eyes.  “Tony here was just telling me he thinks we ought to mechanize the army.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking askance at Tony.  “And just how are you planning to make that one work?”  Before Tony could answer, Steve continued, “Or the better question, what’s Pepper got to say about it?”

The look on Tony’s face said everything.  Rhodes grinned at Tony’s expression of mild panic as Steve dropped into the chair on the shorter man’s other side.  He gestured to the barkeep, an older man named Jarvis, and beckoned him over to ask for a pint.  Alcohol didn’t really affect him much, and it was something he was glad for, but Tony seemed more at ease when Steve joined him in drinking.  It helped that Jarvis hardly batted an eye at Steve’s strange appearance anymore.  Jarvis, even more than Tony and Rhodes, had become used to Steve’s odd comings and goings.  After all, the Stone’s Throw was seemingly a fixed point.  It was the only place Steve had found that existed in exactly the same spot in all three Londons, identical in each in everything but the name and patrons.  In his own London, it was called the Setting Sun.

“How is it that you always smell like tulips?” Tony asked as Jarvis returned with Steve’s pint.  “You’d think the seasons didn’t change where you’re from or something.”

Steve grinned thinly and turned his head just a bit to look at Tony with only his black eye.  It unnerved the inventor.  Steve knew it did, even if the man was too stubborn to say so.  But then, it unnerved most people.  His right eye was sapphire blue, like a cloudless July sky.  But his left was black.  Not just the iris, but lid to lid; pupil, iris, and sclera all an inky black.  It was the color of the magic in his veins.  Just as he knew the flowers Tony smelled – and everyone smelled something different, for Rhodes it was daffodils – was the scent of magic on his skin.  But where the black of his eye was the color of his own magic, the smell of flowers was the scent of Red London’s magic, just as Gray London always smelled of smoke and grit.  Just as White London always smelled of iron and ash.

Tony shifted in his seat.  Steve almost relished the way he squirmed like an insect pinned under the weight of his black gaze.  Almost.  As his grin dropped away, he dropped his gaze back to his mug.  

“What brings you to our city?” Rhodes asked, leaning forward against the bar to see past Tony.

Steve shrugged, deflecting slightly.  Rhodes and Tony knew him too well for it to work, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.  “The usual things.  Business.”

Tony’s look grew sly at that.  “The crown’s?” he asked in a low voice.  “Or your own?”

When Steve looked up again, his jaw was set and his back was too straight to appear entirely relaxed, even though his tone was casual.  “I don’t see why it can’t be both.”

This time it was Rhodes who shrugged, leaning his elbows on the bar and fixing Steve with a look that said he expected to be obeyed.  “Never said it couldn’t.  Or that it shouldn’t.  Or that it should.  You just keep yourself out of trouble.  It’s no concern of ours what you get up to, just keep out of trouble doing it.  Good men are hard to find.”

One side of Steve’s mouth twitched up at that.  “‘Good men,’” he echoed.  “Think I might know some people who’d disagree with you on that one.  But thanks.  And I’ll try.”

 

* * *

 

The Asset stood impassively by, heedless of the sounds of screams that echoed from beyond the door where it was stationed.  The screams were none of its concern.  It might once have screamed like that, but not anymore.  It had been a long time since its handlers had had to resort to anything quite so savage to control it.  But this new asset didn't yet know its place.   _Her_ place, the Asset reminded itself.  It was merely a weapon, a particularly clever blade, and weapons were objects.  But this new asset was human, and humans were not 'its', they were 'hes' or 'shes' and this one happened to be a she.  But she – their masters called her Widow - was special.  In the same way that the Asset was special.  They were both _Antari_ , and their masters coveted and feared them in equal measure for it.

 

* * *

 

Nearly as soon as Steve set foot back in Red London, he found himself face to face with one of the palace guards.  These encounters had stopped worrying him a long time ago.  Peggy was a friend.  Of the guards who made up their dedicated unit, Steve was closest to Peggy.  She and Steve had taken to each other the instant they had been introduced.  Steve wasn’t sure if it was his ability to take a joke or the respect he afforded her in accordance with her station.  There was, in Steve’s observation, an unfair bias against female casters, especially in the military.  In her service, she had shown a particular skill with both tactical planning and earth magic, and after her retirement from the military the royal family had recognized her worth and quickly approached her with an offer of employment.  It hadn’t taken long for her to prove himself and she was now assigned to the prince's detail.  Not that he really needed it, in Steve's estimation.

Prince Samuel - or “just call me Sam” - was a master of air and persuasion, and Steve considered him a brother.  They had been raised together and Sam was always after Steve to teach him more about air magic.  After all, Queen Ororo was one of the most powerful casters Red London had seen in their history, short of an _Antari_.  Sam had quite a reputation to live up to.

Peggy, smart in her gold trimmed red uniform coat, approached him steadily, her pace that of a woman with a purpose.  “Steve,” she called out cheerfully by way of greeting.  But Steve could see the assessing gaze as Peggy took in his black and silver traveling coat that he hadn’t bother to change out for his own red and gold.

"Peg," Steve called back, waving.  "Who's got night watch?  Gabe and Jacques?"  

Gabe and Jacques were some of the more interesting of an already colorful unit of the palace guard that called themselves the Howling Commandos.  The Commandos were veterans of various branches of the royal military, all of whom had proven themselves through exemplary service records.  Traditionally, they would have been Steve's to command, but he felt Falsworth was a much better fit for the task.

Peggy shook her head.  "Dugan and Morita.  And how many times have I told you, don’t call me ‘Peg’?"  As she fell into stride beside Steve, she eyed the _Antari_ appraisingly.  "Anything you wanna mention about your trip?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn't do Peggy the disservice of pretending not to know what she meant.  "No.  I met with Stark and Rhodes, but we just talked."  When Peggy didn't let up, Steve exclaimed, "I swear!  Just talked.  Stark wants to build some kinda automatons, I guess.  And I didn't see hide or hair of Barton."

"You know I worry about you when you go travelling,” she told him.  "Are you up for a walk to town?"

Steve smiled at that.  He'd draw attention traveling with a palace guard, but as long as it was Peggy he didn't mind.  "Sam coming too?"

Peggy scoffed.  "Do you honestly think he'd let us go without him?"

With a shake of his head and a small smile, Steve replied, " Well then what are we standing around here for?  Let's go find him."

 

* * *

 

"Mother, why are our eyes different?" the boy asked in his small, child’s voice, though the question carried a weight that belied his years.

"Because, my darling son, we are _Antari_.  We both are blessed with magic in our veins," the golden-haired woman replied gently, gathering the child to her.

But the boy seemed skeptical of this answer.  "Why are both of my eyes green, then, but one of yours is black?"

The woman sighed, carding her fingers through the boy’s raven dark hair.  "I'm afraid that, dear one, is a more complicated matter."

 


	2. Part 1: Red Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of world-building in this chapter that will be old hat if you are familiar with the novel, but I'm working with the assumption that most people aren't. This chapter has been updated fairly heavily, as I've been trying to work out the Marvel characters in relation to this universe as well.

When the Widow stepped through the portal she had created with blood and words on the blank wall of the castle into the Red London palace for the first time, the colors were nearly blinding.  Everything was so oversaturated as to be overwhelming.  She had never seen colors to compare with the rich crimsons and gleaming golds that painted every surface.

And there, among all the crimson banners bright as blood, stood three people.  The first, a man with dark skin and an easy smile, was dressed smartly in a formal suit of brilliant red and gold silk.  A golden circlet fashioned to look like wings and studded with rubies sat across his brow, his concession to royal garb.  This, obviously, was the prince.

Beside him stood a pale woman, dressed in a flowing crimson dress.  Her auburn hair was braided into an elaborate crown atop her head, with crimson and gold ribbons woven into her auburn locks.  The fancy dress did nothing to make her look less of a potential threat, not with the hardness in her eyes.  She seemed quite at ease in the company of his rather distinctive companions and the panther and rising sun - the emblem of royal family - embroidered in gold over her heart explained in an instant why.  The mark denoted her high rank, most likely a personal servant to the prince.

But it was the last man she was most interested in.  He was dressed in military garb, but a gold half-cape flowed from his shoulders like liquid metal.  He stood calmly watching her.  His eyes, one blue and one black, mirrored her own.  

“You must be Steve,” she said in English, the language strange and awkward on her tongue.  It was so different from the rough, guttural language of White London or the rolling speech of Red London.  And it was a far cry from the fluid language of the _Antari_ that flowed from the tongue like silk.  “You are the _Antari_.”  Steve nodded respectfully.  “My name is Natasha Romanova.  I am the liaison of the White Crown."  She turned her attention then to the dark skinned man.  "And you must be the Red Prince."

"Steve Rogers, ma'am," Steve said, stepping forward to offer his hand.  "Liaison for the Red Crown.  This is His Highness Samuel Wilson Okonkwo, Prince of Arnes and heir to the Red Throne.  And Margaret Carter, of the Crown's Guard."

"Just call me Sam," the prince said, coming forward to offer his own hand.  "Did you bring a letter from the White Crown?”

Natasha shook his hand, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip.  Sam was an attractive man, but reminded her of a jaguar, all lithe, graceful power and silent, elegant death, exotic and wild and fierce.  Natasha knew the type well.  Here, in a setting of peace, he would likely be tame as a housecat.  But if pressed into action, the White _Antari_ had little doubt the prince would be quite formidable.  No match for someone of her own magical prowess, of course, but the only person in the castle who was likely to come close was Steve.  They did have an unfair advantage over the humans, after all.

“I did,” she replied, drawing a rolled sheet of parchment from her pocket.  It was sealed with wax, stamped with the mark of the White Crown: a skull from whose mouth, in place of a lower jaw, extended six curled tentacles, all contained within a circle.  This she handed to the prince.  She knew that this was her official duty as the _Antari_ in service to the White Crown.  But her masters had assigned her another objective as well.  As an ambassador, she would be a guest of the royal household for however long she was in Red London.  As such, she would have access to the palace and the royal family on a provisionary basis.  She was to assess the palace and its guards to find any tactical weaknesses.  Her masters had great plans for Red London.

As they turned to leave, she watched the three who had met her.  She noted that the woman’s dress, once she had turned, had wings like those of an eagle embroidered in gold on the back.  The eagle, she knew, was the symbol of the royal military, and the Red _Antari_ had said she was a member of the Crown's guard. So obviously her first assessment had been wrong.  The woman was a personal guard, not a personal servant.  She couldn’t help but notice, too, the way the Red _Antari_ ’s eyes kept drifting to her as they walked the halls of the palace.  Assessing, but not predatory.  More curious than cruel.  He was soft.  She had no time for softness.  There was no place for it in White London.  She knew her appearance must be strange to him, though.  Her skin was pale as snow and her hair, though the color of copper, seemed strangely faded.  She knew that he had been to White London, but there were few there who had even as much color to them as she did.  It made her stand out.  That was why her masters had sent her in this capacity.  She was ill-suited for the type of work they used their other _Antari_ for.

That was something she had been warned not to mention.  Ordered, more accurately.  And she was compelled to obey such commands.  But the other had no impact on her mission here.  Winter, and that was their masters’ name for him, was confined to White London.  Only she could do the work they needed.

By the time they reached the hall where she was to be guest at dinner with the Red King T’Challa Luke Okonkwo and Red Queen Ororo Munroe Iquadi, she had noted a number of weaknesses in the castle’s defenses, all filed away that she might report them to her masters upon her return.  She dared hope that she might even be rewarded.  Her masters were not forgiving people, but they did value those who worked willingly and well.  Not that her work could be called precisely willing, but she knew what awaited her if she fought them.  She knew better than to resist.

The way the White _Antari_ watched them unsettled Steve.  It wasn’t something he could quite put his finger on, just a feeling.  She seemed too stiff, too sharp-eyed.  Of course, Steve knew White London, and he could hardly claim to be surprised by those traits.  Anyone from the city would have been suspicious.  It was a cold, hungry city whose citizens fought constantly for survival.  Whereas in Red London, magic had helped the world to flourish, in the world of White London, magic was slowly leeching the life from the people and from the very earth.

He knew the story well.  The story of Black London.  The story of Burning Death.  The reason the gates between the worlds had been sealed so that now the _Antari_ were the only remaining link.  The story went thus:  Once, centuries or perhaps even millennia ago, all of the worlds had possessed magic.  At that time, there had been gateways between the worlds to allow people to travel from one to another at will.  There was no need then for _Antari_ and their abilities to open doorways between the worlds.  But in Black London the people had worshiped magic and given themselves over to it entirely.  In Black London, every person had the powers of an _Antari_.  And so magic grew and flourished until it became corrupted and could no longer be controlled.  It overran the world, burning through the people and leaving them little more than ash.  And so, too, in the other worlds did this begin to happen.  People fell under Magic’s spell and died.  So in order to stop the spreading of the corrupted magic, the doors between the worlds were sealed.

The worlds, however, were arranged as though along the branch of a great tree.  They were not so much parallel to one another as stacked.  And thus the closing of the gates affected each differently.  Grey London, being furthest from Black London, no longer possessed magic.  Red London, next furthest, found balance, taming magic into something to be used and respected.  But White London, closest of all to Black London, was left starving, scoured by the corrupted magic.  Magic there became like a wild creature, something to be mastered, but never trusted.  Some versions of the story spoke, too, of another London, a Golden London, that helped to strike down the terror of the corrupted magic and then vanished completely, unheard from and unreachable.

It was a story told to children to frighten them, told as though it were not true.  And perhaps it wasn’t.  But Steve had his doubts.  The state of White London was evidence enough.  Besides which, Dr. Erskine, his childhood mentor, had taught him the history of magic.  The only part of the story he truly doubted the sincerity of was Gold London.  Just as Black London had become like a fairy tale dragon, Gold London had become the fairy tale knight.  It was nothing more than an invention for the sake of children, to show them that the bad things in the world could be defeated.  Dr. Erskine, a scholar of magic himself, had never commented one way or the other about Gold London, but he had been quite firm on the point that the rest of the story was true.

Regardless of the validity of the story, Steve knew White London.  And he knew the sort of people it bred.  This _Antari_ , Natasha, was a perfect fit for the city.  But as they reached the hall where dinner was to be held that evening, Steve tried to put the whole issue from his mind.  He could tell that Sam and Peggy were similarly uneasy, but that they were doing their best to hide it.  If he hadn’t known them for years, he wouldn’t have been able to see it.

As they entered the hall, they were greeted by another of Sam’s guards.  Another woman, dressed similarly to Peggy, although she wore her dark hair in long twists that cascaded down over her shoulders, dotted with golden beads and flashes of ruby.  She was a bit different from the rest of the guard, however, in that she was also Sam’s cousin.  They had served together in the royal military and were both well trained in combat.  But they were equally well trained in diplomacy and court manners.  As such, Idie was more than simply a guard to Sam.  They were close friends and Idie was a trusted advisor.

“Natasha,” Sam said, turning his broad smile on the _Antari_.  Natasha did not smile in return.  “This is Lady Idie Oya Okonkwo, my advisor.  Idie, this is Natasha Romanova, the ambassador for the White Crown.”

Idie offered her hand, but her eyes were sharp.  Steve could tell that the foreign _Antari_ had her on edge as well.  This was going to be a trying evening.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as the Widow’s feet touched the white stone of the castle floor, she started towards the throne room.  The king would want to know of this.  She strode past the empty eyed guards, paying them no heed.  At the door to the throne room, she worked the spell-lock with practiced ease and then pushed the door open.  There on the white marble throne, dressed in an immaculate white uniform, sat Alexander Pierce, the current monarch of White London.  At his feet, Winter knelt on the white stone floor, his head down and his wrists stained red with blood.  The Widow spared the other _Antari_ little more than a glance.  She knew how this worked.  He was Pierce’s pet, and she did not envy him that.

“Hail Hydra,” she said in greeting, bringing her clenched fist to rest over her heart and dropping dutifully to one knee.  “My lord, I have information to report on Red London.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I changed Sam's name. But I also changed his familial relationships. Mostly, I wanted Peggy to be part of the guards. But more than that, I really, really wanted Storm as queen of Red London, because she is in fact a queen and also a mutant with weather powers, which here translates to being extraordinarily skilled at air magic and having some capability with water magic. And T'Challa is a natural choice for king because he is a king and also has a cannon relationship with Ororo. But between making T'Challa his father and Oya his cousin and both of them having connections to the surname Okonkwo, I sort of felt like Samuel Thomas Wilson was waaay too English a name. Also, fun fact, the ruling family in the novel is dark skinned (not specifically black, but Prince Rhy is stated to have dark skin). It's one of the things that makes Kell, the Red Antari in the novel, so aware of his differences from his adoptive brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Vocab List:
> 
> Antari - A special type of extremely powerful magician, capable of using blood magic.  
> As Travars - Literally translates to "travel" in the language of magic.


End file.
